


Favored Son

by Arwriter



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Arthur Whump, Arthur and Dutch friendship, Could be ArthurxDutch, Drowning, Father and Son, Favored Sons, Hurt/Comfort, hurt Arthur, mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 03:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17480486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwriter/pseuds/Arwriter
Summary: Arthur followed Dutch off that cliff to escape the army, but his illness rendered him too weak to follow Dutch to shore. That didn't mean he wouldn't try, though. For Dutch, he would always try.





	Favored Son

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Ending to Favored Sons after Arthur and Dutch jump.  
> I did not kill Arthur.  
> This was not meant to be gay but if you ship it you can see it however you want, have fun.

 

“...You can’t fight gravity.” 

And Arthur jumped in after Dutch because, after everything, after all the doubting and the failures and the deaths, Arthur would follow Dutch blindly. And if he died here...well, then it would be Dutch’s fault. And Arthur would die following him, charging in head first, just like he knew he always would. 

He just wished the water didn’t have to be so damn cold. 

Arthur went under as soon as he hit the rushing stream, the water rising over his head and pushing him down. He kicked up, desperately, feeling the current drag him like he weighed nothing more than a stray leaf. 

His head broke the surface and he gasped, blinking water out of his eyes. It was barely enough time to get a single breath into his burning lungs before he went under again, the river faster than his exhausted body. The cold became close to unbearable, reminding him of those awful weeks up in the mountains, as he was carried further downstream. 

The second time the current let him come up for air, he had just enough time to take a couple of real breaths. It let his mind focus just long enough for a panicked thought of  _ ‘Dutch!’  _ before the water shoved him back down. 

He wasn’t under for long this time, at least he didn’t think he was. It was getting hard to tell. The firing of guns in the distance, the desperate shots taken at fleeing, suicidal criminals had ceased, and Arthur realized that Dutch’s plan might have just worked. 

Other than the fact that he was, inevitably, going to drown. 

The panic broke through his muddled, tired mind, and Arthur kicked out, frantically trying to slow down, to grab onto something. But the unforgiving waves just dragged him forward, tugging him down, pulling and pushing. 

He caught sight of something bobbing in the water a ways ahead of him, something black moving towards the shore. 

Arthur saw Dutch struggling against the current, looking wildly around as he worked to get to the edge of the raging river, his illness-free body carrying him closer and closer to safety. 

Arthur tried to call out for Dutch, mustering what little strength he had left to say safety’s name. The feeling of panic, the instinct for survival, everything was replaced by an overwhelming need for Dutch. 

But the water filled his mouth, drowning out his voice, pushing him back down, and Arthur felt his strength waning. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay afloat. 

“Arthur!” 

But Dutch had seen him, was counting on him, and his distant but strong voice kept Arthur’s struggle alive. 

“ _ Dutch!”  _ Arthur called, weak, broken off with a cough, and then he was under again. He hoped Dutch had heard him. He needed to know Arthur was still fighting. 

It felt like it took longer to break the surface this time. Arthur’s chest ached with an ice cold stabbing, his lungs squeezing, his frantic kicking growing weaker. 

When he came back up, the first thing he noticed was that a few yards away, Dutch had made it to shore. A bit of the panic dissipated. He was almost too tired to realize that in his current state, he would most likely be too far away to follow suit. 

“Over here!” Dutch was yelling, soaked and kneeling at the edge of the river. His hand was outstretched, waiting, and Arthur could just barely comprehend what Dutch wanted him to do. “Oh, don’t give up now Arthur! Come on!” 

Dutch needed him to hold on. His failing mind was just able to register that much. Arthur kept kicking, craning his neck above the cold waves to keep his eyes on Dutch. Their gazes locked, Dutch’s eyes hard and determined, Arthur’s just barely kept open. 

Dutch was on his knees as far into the river as he could without being swept away, his hand reaching for Arthur as he came closer and closer. 

“Take my hand!” Dutch ordered, and Arthur thought he detected a hint of panic to his voice. 

Arthur tried to respond, to let him know he was trying, but his mouth wouldn’t work. He couldn’t feel his tongue. In fact, he was beginning to have trouble feeling his face at all. Maybe it was for the best. Opening his mouth would just run the risk of letting in more water as the river continuously rose over his head, trying to keep him from salvation. 

He was so close. Arthur’s arms felt heavy and useless, but he managed to reach out a hand towards Dutch’s awaiting hold. He was almost there. Dutch had gotten them out. They’d survived. 

Dutch’s determined face suddenly broke out into one of fear. Pure, unabashed horror that Arthur wasn’t sure he had ever seen before. Not even in the face of that alligator that had nearly killed Jules. Did these waters have alligators? He didn’t think so. He certainly hoped not. 

Dutch inched closer, his panic now strikingly obvious, and Arthur kept reaching for him. He noticed that his legs were no longer kicking, and would no longer obey his slowing brain’s instructions. 

The water was turning his own body against him. His own exhaustion was going to be what kept him from safety. How was he supposed to reach Dutch if he didn’t--? 

Oh. It wasn’t alligators driving Dutch into a panic, it was Arthur. Arthur, who was too sick to keep swimming, to weak to make the rest of the distance, being carried away from Dutch by the current, their hands inches apart, and he went under again. 

_ ‘This is it! This is it, Dutch!’  _ Arthur had panicked up on that cliff, sure that Dutch had finally gotten them into an inescapable situation. They’d be killed right then and there, or they’d be arrested and killed later. 

Well, at least this way one of them would make it. And, as painful as it was, Arthur would prefer dying like this, sinking to the bottom of a river no one would find him in, than a public hanging. 

Arthur couldn’t see. His eyes had slipped shut as some point and he didn’t bother opening them. He didn’t think he could if he wanted to. His body was on fire, screaming for oxygen. He couldn’t tell anymore when he was underwater, he just knew he couldn’t fight against it. 

And then something grabbed his arm and tugged, hard. Something squeezed his forearm hard enough to leave a bruise and he was hoisted up, cold air hitting his forehead. He was held up against something solid. He was still in the water, still being helplessly carried, but now he was just barely being kept afloat, water splashing the corners of his mouth. 

Arthur pried his eyes open, the smallest action filled with cold, unyielding pain. Through his sliver of blurry vision, Arthur saw an arm dressed in black wrapped tightly around him, and the familiar breaths of the desperate man behind his ear. 

_ Dutch.  _

No,  _ no!  _ Dutch was supposed to live, not die saving Arthur when he was already doomed. Dutch had been safe, he’d survived, and now they were both going to drown because Arthur was too weak to save himself. 

He raised his arms, heavy and limp as they were, and did his best to push Dutch away. He tried to struggle out of the vice grip, to get Dutch to let go of the dead weight, but the hold was only tightened, stubbornly, and Arthur wasted what was left of his strength. His head fell against Dutch’s chest. 

Dutch’s chest was moving, vibrating against Arthur’s shivering frame. It took a moment for him to realize Dutch was talking, and he strained to hear his voice over the roar of the water. 

“Hang in there, son,” Dutch said, his stubborn determination returning. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ give up, I told you not to give up.” 

Arthur wanted to nod, to give Dutch some sort of sign that he understood, that he’d do whatever he could, but he was numb and tired, and could only fall silently against Dutch as he swam for the both of them.

The next thing Arthur knew he was lying flat on his back, something hard pressing down on his chest. He arched up as a fit of coughing overtook him, his stomach churning and his lungs fighting desperately for air. 

He turned over on his side and threw up mouthfuls of river water, vaguely aware of someone moving beside him. His coughs sounded worse than usual, hoarse and wet, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he waited to be able to breathe again. 

“Come on, Arthur.” Dutch’s voice was somewhere above him, scared and unsure, because for once there was nothing he could do to help. “Breathe, son. Come on,  _ breathe _ .” 

Arthur wanted to tell Dutch that he was  _ trying _ , but he was still drowning in that river and his lungs were too weak to be doing things like jumping off a cliff into a raging river. 

After what felt like an eternity, the coughing finally subsided. Arthur curled in on himself, his body wracked with painful shivers, and he waited for the lingering pain to become bearable. 

“It’s ok,” Dutch said softly. He sounded close, but Arthur still couldn’t see him, too tired to lift his head. Dutch’s hand was suddenly on the back of his neck, squeezing gently, grounding him. “You’re ok.” 

Arthur nodded. Despite his body’s protests he tried to sit up, assuming Dutch would want to split up and head back to camp as soon as possible. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could manage to stand, let alone mount his horse. 

Dutch helped him off the wet ground, the roaring of the river that had nearly killed them both still filling the quiet clearing. Before Arthur could try and get to his feet Dutch guided him further back, until he was resting against Dutch’s side. 

Dutch was just as cold and wet as he was, but somehow, to Arthur he felt warm. They were both still shaking, and Arthur was, once again, struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“We need to go,” Arthur said, but his voice was wet and ragged, and he barely got the words out before he broke into another set of painful coughs. 

Dutch tensed, briefly tightening his hold on Arthur as they waited for the attack to pass. It didn’t last long, but afterwards Arthur fell completely limp against Dutch, shaky and spent. 

“We travelled pretty far downstream,” Dutch explained. “We’re fine. Take some time to rest. We’re ok, Arthur.”

Deep down, Arthur knew they wouldn’t be. But for the time being, he would take Dutch’s word for it.  


End file.
